


Sometimes I Will Need You to Dry My Tears

by Aethelflaed



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Canon Compliant, Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Depressed Crowley (Good Omens), Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Kissing, Love, M/M, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Post-Canon, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sad Crowley (Good Omens), South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Zine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27110950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aethelflaed/pseuds/Aethelflaed
Summary: Sometimes it takes him, the mood, the spiral of self-doubt and self-disgust that makes Crowley wonder why he ever even bothered trying. A numbing weight across his emotions leaving nothing but despair.But then, in his darkest moments, there is always Aziraphale...--Inspired by a DIWS Prompt Sprint and written for The Ineffable Con 2 Zine!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 152
Collections: GO-DIWS Prompt Sprints, The Ineffable Con 2





	Sometimes I Will Need You to Dry My Tears

**Author's Note:**

> CW: Depression

Crowley slumped on the sofa, glaring at his mobile. They got him sometimes, the moods, the general hatred of the world, disgust at humanity being so... _human,_ really, making a mess of their own lives. He scrolled through news feeds and updates, looking at corrupt politicians – greedy billionaires – pollution – environmental destruction – poverty – warfare.

The usual blend. Normally, he reveled in this, dove headfirst into the thick of it. Focus on the little stuff, ignore the big picture. Build a bit of chaos, see who chose to add to the evil in the world and who chose to do good. It was fun, it was exhilarating, it made him feel alive.

Not today. He felt the opposite of alive. Everything just...fell on him. Numb. Pointless. What the Heaven was he even trying to do in this world?

Five years ago, he and Aziraphale had walked out of the Ritz, free of their sides, with a whole new eternity stretched before them. Things would be different, he’d decided.

No more _hail Satans,_ no more lurking in the shadows, no more pointless temptations assigned by superiors whose ideas of Evil were about as well-developed as their thoughts on hygiene.

Crowley was going to make a difference. He was going to make the world _better._ Not “more orderly and pristine,” the way Heaven sought, not “more full of empty pleasures” as Hell claimed to want. A world where humans could live their lives free of some meaningless Plan, pulled up or laid low by their own choices. And who better to pull it off than the demon who had spent six thousand years learning what made everything tick?

It was a stupid plan. He knew that now; probably knew it at the time, but the champagne had been good and Aziraphale had been smiling, and when the angel had asked _what are you in the mood for next…_

Well. He’d thought he could do anything.

But here he was. Five years later. What the Heaven had he done? Started a few fights in YouTube comments? Played a prank with the village electrical grid? Thrown a tomato at a bigoted arsehole who probably just went and said the same bigoted shit on the other side of the park?

Crowley hadn’t accomplished a _single blessed thing._ And now he couldn’t even blame his bungling superiors or some Ineffable Plan. The failure rested, as it always had really, squarely on him: a demon so inept he couldn’t even _make trouble_ properly.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” Aziraphale appeared, framed in the kitchen door of their eclectic cottage, a mug of something steaming in each hand.

“Nothing. The usual. Stupid humans, doing pointless shit. What else is new?”

“Not that.” Aziraphale padded softly across the plush carpet to settle on the sofa beside him. “You. What’s wrong with you?”

“Nh. I’m fine. M’always fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Look at you.” He set the mugs of cocoa on the coffee table and placed a hand under Crowley’s chin, tipping his face away from the mobile screen. “I know that expression. Glowering and cold.”

“There’s nothing – this is my usual expression, Angel. I’m always...scowly.”

“Nonsense,” he tutted, sliding a little closer. “I know when you’re really upset. The Spanish Inquisition. The French Revolution. Rome.” Aziraphale’s fingers slid across Crowley’s shoulders, until his arm held the demon in a warm embrace. “I saw you like this then, face like you were trying to set the tavern on fire with your mind. And you know what I thought?”

“Probably, _oh, shit, it’s that loser again.”_

“Never.” He tugged Crowley’s head towards him and pressed a kiss against his temple. “I thought, _oh, what has become of my lovely, clever friend?”_

“Did not. Lying bastard.”

“What could have the great, marvelous Crowley so upset?” His lips found their way to Crowley’s sigil and kissed there as well.

“I know you didn’t think of me like that.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Another kiss against his cheek. “Why wouldn’t I admire someone like you?” He reached Crowley’s lips and kissed them, just at the corner, gently, carefully.

“Cuz I’m worthless. Just a – a stupid screw-up of a demon. I’m fucking useless, and you’d probably be happier if I just – just – just left you alone.”

“Don’t say that,” Aziraphale said, softly this time, but there was no hiding the note of pain.

 _Good going, genius, now you’ve made him upset. He’s going to realize he hates you, too._ “Why shouldn’t I? It’s true. I’m a wretched – a blithering – all I do is – is ruin things. It’s all I’m good at! If I wasn’t here, you could just—”

“How dare you?” Aziraphale’s voice remained soft, but now filled with a fervent heat. 

“What?”

“I said – how _dare you?”_ Aziraphale swung his leg and pulled himself to sit in Crowley’s lap, pressing the demon’s shoulders deep into the back of the sofa with arms as strong as they were gentle. His lips grabbed Crowley’s, almost forcefully, kissing him again and again. “How dare you,” a kiss to the jaw, “say that,” another, slightly further back, “about someone,” one more trailing towards his ear, “I love?”

“Aziraphale, I know what you’re trying to do—”

“Do you?” Aziraphale buried his hand in Crowley’s hair, pulling it just enough to tip his head back, exposing his throat. More kisses followed that line down. “How dare – you insult – the being – I swore – to spend – _eternity_ – with?” And back up the other side. “What gives you – the right – to say – such – truly – awful – things – about him?”

“I mean...he’s me. I think I know?”

“You don’t know a damned thing, then.” He reached Crowley’s lips again, and his hands grasped either side of the demon’s head, holding him in place, so he couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but take every bit of passion that poured into him, filling him to overflowing. His mobile phone tumbled from fingers, sliding forgotten between the cushions. “After all this time – all these years,” more kisses, up the other side of his jaw, burning into him, “you still have no idea!”

“What’re you—” Crowley started, only to be pushed back against the sofa again.

“My dear – my darling – my love,” on the last kiss, Aziraphale reached his ear, nibbled it, and then leaned close to whisper: “You are... _everything_ to me. My light, my guiding star. I would be lost without you, I would be alone, I would be, Lord help me, _still in Heaven._ But you...my Crowley...you _saved_ me. You brought me here, to our _home._ You made me feel like I _mattered._ So please, if you love me, don’t say such things. Don’t leave. Or I’ll be lost, too.”

Crowley didn’t know when the tears had started, but they ran down his face, faster every second, and when Aziraphale pulled back, his cheeks were wet with them, too. “Angel…”

“I wish I – I could find the words...help you see how wonderful and important and _breathtaking_ you are. I don’t even know where to begin.”

Crowley’s arms rose and pulled Aziraphale against him, and all that angelic strength melted into teddy-bear softness.

Crowley found Aziraphale’s lips and kissed them, again and again, trying to express the feelings trapped under the all-encompassing numbness that hung over him. “I’m sorry, Angel. I didn’t...I wouldn’t...”

“I know. I know.” Between passionate kisses. “I know.”

“I just...I can’t...I can’t do it.” A sob escaped him. “I just...can’t help the way I feel sometimes.” He tipped his head down, pressing his forehead against Aziraphale’s. “I want to be strong for you, I do, but I’m not. I’m not.”

“Darling, you don’t always have to be.” Warm hands cupped Crowley’s face, wiping away the tears. “But please, please don’t say I’m better off without you. That isn’t...that will _never_ be true.”

“You won’t want to be around me like this. I’m just…”

“I never want to be anywhere else.” Aziraphale leaned in, kissed him gently, on the lips, then on each eyelid. “Please, tell me what’s wrong. Let me help.”

“Nrrrrr...I don’t know!” Now Aziraphale would see how truly stupid he was. “Nothing’s wrong. I just...I’m miserable for no reason, and I don’t know how to make it stop! Are you happy now?”

“Oh, _Crowley.”_ Aziraphale shook his head, eyes still wet. “Lay down.”

“Ngk.” Crowley blinked. “What…”

“Darling, _don’t_ make me repeat myself. Lay down.”

Aziraphale rose onto his knees as Crowley stretched across the sofa, then lowered himself, settling across awkward limbs and gangly body, covering Crowley like a warm, heavy, soft blanket. “Is this better?” he asked, pressing a kiss to Crowley’s neck.

“Mmmmmh,” Crowley grudgingly admitted.

“Good. I don’t know how to make it stop, but I will be with you until this mood passes.” He rested his head against Crowley’s chest, settling down until the demon could feel their hearts beating together, one strong and perfect, one broken and damaged, pounding together in beautiful harmony.

Crowley closed his eyes, tipped back his head, soaking it all in. “M’glad you’re here, Angel.”

“As am I, my wonderful friend. As am I.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> This fic was written back in August, during a week when depression hit me so hard, I don't even *remember* much of what happened, including actually writing this. It's as if it simply appeared in my Google Docs one day, a week before the TIC2 Zine deadline, like a gift from Aziraphale and Crowley themselves!
> 
> From what I do recall, it was inspired by one of [Sosser86's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sosser86/pseuds/sosser86) fantastic Prompt Sprint Prompts, so the initial draft was probably written in 20 or 30 minutes. Additional thanks to [ZA Dusk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snakeandmoon/pseuds/Z%20A%20Dusk) for the sensitivity read and [burnttongueontea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burnttongueontea/pseuds/burnttongueontea) for the beta read. And of course to the Co-Chairs of The Ineffable Con 2: Rachael and Bethany!
> 
> Finally, thanks to everyone who read, and for all the many people who commented on my fics to get me through a very rough summer. I have no idea how I'll ever respond to them all, but I promise more fics in the future!
> 
> Edit: Nearly forgot, the title is a line from the poem ["Broken Wing" by Will Reyes.](https://www.instagram.com/p/BpAbH-NhmpU/?utm_source=ig_web_button_share_sheet) I stumbled across it while looking for a good title line, and it struck me as very appropriate, to how I have felt, and how I write Crowley and Aziraphale.


End file.
